


The Consultant

by Grovehove



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Maria Stark, BAMF Tony Stark, F/M, Family Secrets, Howard Stark's Good Parenting, Inspired by Skyfall, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Identity, Skyfall References, Slow Burn, Soulmate Triad, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/pseuds/Grovehove
Summary: Rumours of 007 death had been exaggerated. Barnes was back. His Country needed him and he needed to avenge his soulmate's death. His Stevie, Steven Grant Rogers, 006 had been iced by the terrorist group Hydra just when they were within reach of the evidence that confirmed Stark Industries were funding and supplying weapons to the terrorists.M knew they had a mole in SHIELD, he also knew that the return of James Barnes had to be kept off the grid so that he could use his resurrected asset properly.Barnes would have to be sent to the Consultant.A soulmate modern spy Au gift for Oceanhearted in the Winteriron Spring Fling Challenge.





	The Consultant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceanhearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanhearted/gifts).



The Consultant

 

“You told him to take the damn shot” the low, gravelly, bitter voice was startling and intrusive in the quiet evening as the menacing figure stepped out of the shadows of the living room.  
  
M swung round in shock, the adrenaline hit instinctively, making him reach for a weapon he had moments before locked in the safe in his personal office. He had been heading towards the small nook containing a bar for a whisky to try to drown out the incessant headache of the insanity that had been his work day, hell the escalating clusterfuck that had been the last six months since they had lost both his agents, 007 and 006 in one horrifying and disastrous forty-eight hours

  
He glared at the man who emerged from the shadows, clad all in leather. “How the hell did you get in here and what do you want?” The words were snarled, a mask of anger that covered his complete focus on the intruder whilst reviewing in his mind’s eye exactly how far he was from any useful object that could be utilised as a weapon.  
   
If Phil Coulson could use a goddamn packet of flour in a gas station store to deal with an attempted robbery, then he was more than adequately provided for by the heavy crystal decanters. Though he would make sure he didn’t use the one containing the Macallan single malt scotch. It was his favourite, besides being ridiculously expensive.  
  
The figure raised his head and glacial, silver eyes stared at him without blinking. Then he noticed the odd way the intruder was holding his left arm against his body. Silver eyes, silver arm his brain submitted a fraction too late.

M came to a complete stop, ice suddenly making its way through his veins. He should have recognised that low, guttural growl, especially since he had only just been thinking about his lost super soldier spies.  
  
“Barnes… James Barnes…007” he confirmed mockingly in an instinctive, obstinate refusal to admit to any fear in front of this incredibly dangerous man. He took a moment to draw a breath and calm his racing pulse.  
  
“You were supposed to be dead, soldier. I even wrote you an obituary for the New York Times. A damn fine one at that. Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes of the 101st Howling Commandos. Dying bravely in the line of duty. Nearly made myself cry at the pathos of it all.”  
  
M gave his trademark unrepentant smirk, whilst this time his brain instinctively assessed defensive positions and the best available escape routes, which would also trigger his house alarms. 007 would know about the personal alarms on his body. All SHIELD staff were fitted with them.  
M wasn’t considering ad hoc weapons now, it would have to be an escape route because whilst he could hold his own against most of his 00 agents, there had always been three exceptions. Barnes, Rogers and Romanov.  
  
“You told him to take the damn shot” Barnes repeated without raising his voice, the level of the threat in the room intensifying even though he made no overt move towards the older man.

It was M who lost his temper like a damn amateur. “Of course, I fucking did Bucky, we couldn’t let Rumlow off that train with the hard drive. It was the proof we needed that Stark Industries is working with Hydra.  The shot was supposed to help you deal with him. You were getting nowhere with the hand to hand fight on the god damn roof of the train. You were too evenly matched”  
  
Bucky snorted with derision, the first sign on his face of something other than murderous intentions. “Evenly matched my fine ass. I was fighting Rumlow already with one bullet wound you bastard, I didn’t need another from friendly fire. Jesus, a god damned rookie agent with no depth perception was my fucking back-up?  And after the abysmal shot that took me out, you fucking lost Rumlow and that damned hard drive anyway.”  
  
“Hawkeye took Rumlow down with his second shot. He is our best sniper and…”.  
  
“Hawkeye? He wasn’t even one of the double 0s?” Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “What the hell, Fury? Did you give the job to some snot- nosed kid straight from high school? He’s your best sniper? Are you losing your grip? You should rename the bastard after one of the three blind mice”.

M’s bitch face at the sound of his real name on his spy’s lips left Barnes unimpressed.  
“The circus, Coulson recruited him from the circus,” M corrected in an absent aside before ignoring the rest of the comment to demand, “Where the hell have you been Barnes?”  
  
“Enjoying my death after the obviously fatal fall from that train,” 007 snarled right back at him. “Wasn’t much left of my god damned life, was there? Betrayed by my country, betrayed by my Agency. You hung us out to dry. I lost my soulmate.”

M suddenly sighed and rubbed at his empty eye socket. For once, all that menacing, overlord, pirate, spymaster aura deserted him and he looked his age. He looked old and tired. It only lasted long enough to utter, “We tried to save him, Bucky but it was no use. Hydra, Red Skull, himself got to 006, got to Rogers first.”  


M could see his own death reflected in murderous rage darkening those silver eyes. There was a long pause until finally, the tension seemed to ease a little in the spy’s muscular body.  
  
“Rumlow bragged to me that they had iced him” came the unemotional comment. M briefly closed his eyes but not for long. The spy in front of him, was too unpredictable to relax his guard.  
  
The unshaven, haggard man almost whispered in the resulting silence, “His soul mark burned like acid and then faded.”  
  
It was the deeply buried part of M, the Colonel, who winced with understanding. It was an old pain. His own soul mark had disappeared a long time ago, but he would be damned if he let his Agent wallow in the same destructive self-pity that had kept him pretending to be dead and, more importantly not actually working for his Agency.  
  
007 was too useful to lose. Especially since they had already lost 006. His undead status was just the break they needed for this god damned nightmare. Hydra was everywhere, and M wasn’t sure who he could trust anymore except for Coulson. Even his loyal second was on a need to know basis at the moment. They were finally close enough to cause Hydra some real damage and cut off their finance and supplies from the usually untouchable Stark Industries. He needed 007 active, ruthless and undercover. He knew just what to say to make that happen.

“Fuck that Barnes, I know he was one of your damned Soulmates but what about the other one? Don’t you even care about that poor bastard?” Suddenly there was knife to his throat.  
007 hissed in his ear. “Don’t you ever mention that again or I will gut you and hang you out to dry”. There was no doubt he meant every word.  
M raised an unimpressed eyebrow whilst he huffed at him but made no move to get away. The knife was pressed far enough into his skin for him to feel the skin break. A drop of blood slid downwards to stain the pristine, white shirt. He knew his Agent had done it on purpose.

“Why did you come back?” M demanded, ignoring the weapon so close to his Adam’s apple, whilst staring straight into the almost feral man’s eyes.

Barnes slowly released him and stepped back, “I saw the explosion. They are the bastards who killed Stevie. You need me,” he grunted simply. He refused to state the obvious, that he was going to burn Hydra’s world to ashes.

 Fury sent an all-encompassing glance over the guy. The damage was obvious if you knew where to look.  “You are no good to me like that,” he stated bluntly.

Barnes frowned as he flexed his shoulders. “I’ll go to Q branch tomorrow. The arm took some hits from the fall,” he muttered grudgingly.

“No,” M contradicted. His brain was racing with mission options and opportunities. “There are indications that this was an inside job. It’s the only way they could have gotten to Rogers. I don’t want anyone knowing you are alive yet. There’s something going on at the Agency and I have that supercilious bastard Alexander Pierce breathing down my neck as part of an official oversight review of the country’s secret intelligence services including SHIELD. No. For now, you will be more use to me dead. I have plans for you.”

“This needs to be fixed Fury. I can’t operate at peak efficiency with my arm like this and I access to the usual kit to work” growled the spy.

Fury raised his head and his slow smile was dangerous and smug as he confirmed. “It will be fixed 007 and you will get the best equipment in the world. I am sending you to the Consultant”

A spark of interest lit those dull, silver eyes and for a brief moment Barnes looked intrigued instead of murderous. “I though the Consultant was an Agency urban legend. A myth to scare all the rookie techs in Q branch.” There was a faint touch of amusement in Barnes voice.

“The Consultant has no affiliation with any intelligence agency. He works where he wants, when he wants. Not always for the Government. He’s always claimed to work on the side of the Righteous!  
No Agency has ever been successful in tracking him down or identifying him. Those that try too hard are refused access to his services for a few years until they learn their lesson. He also fucks with their firewalls for the hell of it. But it was his work that took AIM down and dropped Killian Aldrich into our hands like a ripe peach with all the evidence to put that insane bastard away for a very long time.”

“The Consultant is that good?” Barnes queried with a considering look in his eyes.  
“Better” M nodded. “Of course, 007 while your arm is being repaired it will allow you to get as much Intel on the Consultant as possible for any future… negotiations.”  
There was a disturbingly avaricious expression on the Director’s face. M had wanted The Consultant in his clutches for years.

Exhaustion swept over Barnes and he needed to be done with M and his manipulative machinations.  
“Get Coulson to send me the meet details. I am going back to the apartment to rest and change into something more appropriate.”

An evil smirk chased away the greed from Fury’s face as he happily informed the prodigal spy “You don’t have an apartment anymore 007. We sold it as per Agency policy regarding deceased staff with no living relatives.”

“You complete and utter bastard,” Barnes snarled.  
Fury’s smirk got wider as he dared to say, “Well if you two fools had found your third, then it wouldn’t have happened would it”  
The punch that put him on the floor was an acceptable price to pay for rubbing the idiot’s nose in it. For all his reputation for callous pragmatism, M spared no sympathy for someone who would deliberately neglect one Soulmate because of another.

It had taken Bucky a week to get back to SHIELD headquarters in New York. A god damned week after he had seen SHIELD’s flagship helicarrier blow up live on-air courtesy of CNN. There had been loss of life. Agents and SHIELD staff, twenty in all including the head of Q branch himself but fortunately no civilians because the helicarrier’s descent had been superbly controlled from within the damaged ship by R, Q’s deputy Maria Hill.

Barnes had been washed up on a remote beach on an island with little to no tourist trade. He had spent months there because he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go and he didn’t actually care.

He was a useless no-account loser. He had lost everything. His Stevie, his soul mark, his job, his life. Everything. He woke most mornings to a warm body lying beside him, but it was the wrong one. It was always female now and he never remembered their names, even if there were repeats events.  
His only income was from the increasingly dangerous drinking games he was challenged to every night in the beach bar. It paid for the rent on the hovel, food when he remembered and alcohol. He needed that alcohol like he needed air to breath. Not that it would do him any harm because of the damn serum. He could only hope that there was a point at which the serum, courtesy of Uncle Sam and those fuckers Erskine and Stark, could actually be overloaded by voluntary alcoholic poisoning.  
  
Every time he took a drink, the faded soul mark came into his line of sight. He knew he could have covered it up and avoided the searing, sickening pain, but he deserved it. He deserved to see the proof that his soulmate was dead because of him. His Stevie was dead. His heart was dead.  
  
They had known each other since they were kids. He, an orphaned Russian immigrant, adopted and adored by the Barnes family until the only thing he could remember about his old life was the language. Steven Grant Rogers, the littlest punk on the block with the most fearless heart and ferocious temper. The day they met, Bucky had stumbled across the small boy taking a kicking from a group of youths who had been tormenting an abandoned, old dog.  
  
The kid wouldn’t stay down though, bleeding, bruised, but righteously furious. Bucky had been afraid he was going to get himself killed, so he had called out that the cops were coming. He could have handled maybe two himself because his Da had taught him how to fight dirty but he couldn’t defeat that many, so he decided to use his smarts instead like his Ma always told him.

Stevie had grinned up at him from under a messy thatch of dirty blonde hair. His bruised and battered little face, nose and lips bleeding, enormous tear drenched intense blue eyes, had hit his heart like a haymaker and he had been a goner.  The kid was his. They were inseparable after that.

Soul marks appeared when a child hit its tenth year, sometimes on a birthday, sometimes not. The only sure thing was that it happened at the age of ten. Scientists could never agree what triggered them, whilst the major religions all simply stated that it was the will of God.  
  
They both received their soul marks at the same time, the day after Stevie had turned ten. Bucky was older by a month and the pair of them had been breathlessly excited about the possibility, despite their respective parents’ warnings that they shouldn’t count their chickens.  
  
The marks had shocked both of them to the core. They had been so sure. But neither of the marks were their own given names. It wasn’t possible. Of course, they were soulmates. They had been so excited. They were going to get pre-registered. Full registration and bonding ceremony was after 18 but they could let the world know that they were mates. They didn’t need anyone else.  
Then the damning words had appeared, and it had nearly broken them.  
  
They had refused to show each other, refused even to see each other, and moped apart until Bucky’s Ma in her no-nonsense fashion had rolled up his sleeve and stated with exasperation, “How is my son this stupid? You might not know the word on your arm James Buchanan Barnes but its Stevie’s handwriting. Don’t you recognise it?”

He really looked at it. The word “Captain” had definitely been written in Stevie’s neat, cursive script. But what the hell did the word mean? Sarah Rogers had the same come-to-Jesus talk with her boy and though the word “Winter” baffled them both, there was no mistaking Bucky’s distinctive scribble.

The third Soul Mark had appeared when they were twenty-two.  
  
They had joined the super soldier programme under the auspices of the military scientist General Erskine and the brilliant, but eccentric, civilian engineer Howard Stark.  
   
Stevie had wanted to follow his late father into the Army but the only way they would accept him, because of his poor health and small stature, was under this experimental programme.  
No way was Bucky letting his best boy go through that alone. They had promised each other they would be together until the end of the line.  
  
They were the first two volunteers to receive the Super Soldier Serum, whilst in Stark’s “Vita-Ray” magic box.   
They were the only two to ever receive it as Erskine had been murdered right there in the lab with them by Hydra and the rest of the serum destroyed.  
  
Howard Stark had disappeared soon after, claiming to have no research on the serum and that his Vita-Ray boxes had been destroyed in storage when the building had burnt to the ground, also conveniently destroying all his technical notes and archives for the programme.  
  
Stark had refused any and all threats and inducements to start the programme up again. But he had appeased his military bosses somewhat by agreeing to help monitor the progress of the only two super soldiers in existence. He had even created the technological wonder that was Bucky’s left arm after he had lost it on a mission in the Alps of all places.  
  
Winter and The Captain had been used for increasingly more ridiculous and deadly black ops because the powers that be couldn’t figure what to do with a couple of prototype Super Soldiers when there was supposed to be a battalion of them.  
  
So, Stark was there the day their third Soul Mark appeared.

Both Rogers and Barnes had been signed off by medical. Stark had them submitting the usual barrage of tests. One last chore before they could try to drown their frustrations and memories in alcohol with their strike team, when suddenly, the pair of them felt the distinctive burn of an emerging mark.  
  
Stevie had stared at Buck wide-eyed. It had never occurred to them that they would be part of a triad.  They didn’t even remember that Stark was still in the room with them when they had opened their shirts and peered in shock at both their own and the other’s chest. There, right above their hearts, the word “Ironman” was neatly printed in gold. Identical.

“A ten year old third?” Steve had uttered in appalled disbelief. Panic, anger and something like jealousy crossed his handsome normally kind face.  
  
“You are mine Buck, we don’t need a third and we definitely don’t need some kid. If we register this then they will take us off the strike team. If we were all the same age, we might get permission but not a Triad with a little kid. There’s no way it would fly. I can’t give this up. We can’t give this up.  
We can make a difference. We are making a difference. We are doing good Buck.”  
Stevie’s voice was almost pleading as he stared up at his silent soulmate. His voice hardened  
“Damn it, we are not glorified babysitters.”   
  
Bucky had soothed his mate, refusing to acknowledge the deep burn of regret. He might hate it, but Stevie was right. What the hell would they have in common with a ten-year-old?  
They had been the only successes from the failed programme. It was important that they do their duty for their country. A third was superfluous at this point and could only jeopardise the whole thing.  
For now, it was better that they wait until their third was older, until Stevie had appeased his saving people instinct enough and his beautiful eyes turned back to their normal baby blues instead of that surprisingly jealous green..

They didn’t see Stark’s face whiten at the word on their chest or notice the way he stumbled as he had left the room. When he was far enough away that he would not be heard by the super soldiers, he pulled out his cell phone. He pressed a button and simply said, “I’m calling in all my markers. After this you won’t hear from me again.”

A fortnight later, Rogers and Barnes left the identities of Winter and Captain behind as they were transferred to the double OO training programme for the secret intelligence service SHIELD.

 

Edward Carbonell, hardworking, respectable, and straight-laced young CEO of Carbonell International Corporation, was alone in his penthouse suite. He had taken over CIC when his mother had died unexpectedly in a car accident on the way to their skiing lodge in Switzerland to set up for their traditional Christmas holiday. The burnt-out wreckage of her Rolls had been found in a ravine.  
Edward had been raised by Maria, the Spanish society beauty who had inherited Carbonell International when she was younger than Edward and made it a name to be reckoned with.  
  
CIC was predominately known for its work in the medical equipment field, but Edward had branched out with his mother’s blessing into green energy. He had worked with his mother since his early graduation from Harvard Business School. He had been determined to learn as much from her as possible. She fascinated him. He knew she was ruthless, capable and an insanely talented entrepreneur, yet she allowed the world to see her a society butterfly.  
.  
She had taught her son from a young age that it never paid to flaunt all of one’s power and skill, only to show the world the obvious because being underestimated always proved to be the best advantage possible.

The fact that his beloved Papa had agreed with his Mamma had reinforced the lesson. He always thought that his Papa would have made a skilled magician with his need for secrecy and misdirection whilst putting on his best performances in public. His Papa had laughed delightedly when Edward had presented him with a perfectly drawn schematic for a top hat large enough to hold a rabbit. He had it framed and in pride of place in his home office. At the next Stark Expo, Howard had the set designers come up with a magic show, whilst he wore a cape and pulled a rabbit from the prototype hat that Edward had designed. Edward had been five and Papa had brought the rabbit home for him.  


 Maria Carbonell and Howard Stark were the doting parents of Antony Edward Jarvis Carbonell Stark. They adored him. But his was not a normal childhood by any means. Maria and Howard were utterly paranoid about their child’s safety after Howard’s butler Jarvis foiled a kidnapping attempt when the baby was a mere six weeks old.  They had become old hands at disseminating misinformation regarding themselves and their son.

 _Public Knowledge: Maria Carbonell and Howard Stark had a brief, but intense, affaire that ended, at least, a year before her son was born. The father of said son was never listed on his birth certificate. Neither of them ever met their soul matches._  
  
_Fact: Maria Carbonell was married to her soulmate Howard Stark until the day he died. He was the father of her son and all records of the marriage and child’s birth had been redacted in order to keep the boy safe._  
  
_Public Knowledge: Howard Stark was an eccentric, billionaire, businessman, playboy who had no intentions of ever settling down._

_Fact: Howard Stark was a loyal family man who hid his loved ones behind as many masques and firewalls as he could._

_Public Knowledge: Howard Stark was the Merchant of Death; his company was so entrenched with the Government that it might as well be part of the Department of Defence._  
  
_Fact: Howard Stark was the Consultant. A shadowy figure who fought on the side of the righteous and was capable of bringing down governments and terrorists alike. He charged exorbitantly for his services and the only allegiance he owed was to his own conscience._

For all that Howard always smilingly boasted to his young son that Stark men were made of Iron, Edward always thought that it was more appropriate for his Mamma than the men of the family. She allowed, no she actively encouraged, the misconception that she was a figurehead when in actual fact she ruled her company with an iron fist inside an extremely expensive, high couture, velvet glove.

With his parents blessing and guidance the young, vibrant child prodigy and technical genius, Tony Stark had become the respectable, rich, and bland nonentity Edward Carbonell.

Edward Carbonell attended Harvard Business School and graduated with honours. Students and Staff barely remembered him because he was a nice guy but boring. Nothing exciting happened to the rich boy. He was respectable and decorous to his core. He worked hard, though he rarely played at all.  
But Edward Carbonell knew talent when he saw it, so he took names and offered extremely generous incentives to the select few who would be of benefit to his ultimate plan.  
Edward Carbonell quietly, ruthlessly and efficiently compiled his own team of loyal, hardworking and enthusiastic students and staff who would work for him at CIC.  
  
His alter ego was called Tony Jarvis. Papa had made him promise not to use the name Stark yet for reasons he wouldn’t disclose but Tony had always trusted his Papa and always would.  
Tony whirled his way through his undergraduate and doctoral studies like a god damn tornado.  
The boy’s mind was incredible. He used Stanford School of Engineering to soak up systems design, bioengineering, network security, climate change, robotics, information technology, and computation and data analysis. Caltech was his foray into biological and chemical engineering.  
The flexible options at Cambridge University allowed him to study sustainability as well as aerothermal engineering. But his favourite was MIT, not only was it fun, he had also gained something infinitely more precious than a doctorate. He also gained a Rhodey _._  
  
If Tony could have chosen his own soulmate it would have been his honey bear, James Rhodes. Rhodey was perfect. Rhodey understood him like no one else ever had and Rhodey was the only person Tony had ever told of his double life as Maria and Howard’s son  
  
Instead, Tony was burdened with two bastards who wanted nothing to do with him.  
His soulmates Winter and the Captain had made no attempt to find him since their names had appeared on the inside of both his elbows two weeks after his tenth birthday.  
  
Tony was pretty sure his Papa and his Mamma knew who they were. Papa hadn’t looked surprised when he had come home from work and Tony had run to show him the marks.  
Young Tony had been really excited about meeting his ten-year-old soulmates. It was going to be such fun and they were his, just like he was theirs.  
Papa had looked sad when he said that out loud and looked at his Mamma. Jarvis had taken Tony away for his evening meal and when Mamma and Papa came to kiss him goodnight, Mamma had sat down and said that it was possible that his soulmates were older than him, but he wasn’t to worry because she and Papa were going to look for them  
  
It was not long after the names appeared that he and Maria moved to Barcelona without Papa. Though Papa was always in contact even if sometimes it was only through Jarvis, his godfather, honorary uncle, and his Papa’s unofficial bodyguard/cum butler.  
  
A year after the marks had appeared, Mamma and Papa had taken him on holiday to Euro Disney in Paris and explained to him that his marks weren’t kids like him, that they were older, and that sometimes older marks waited for their young marks to grow up before coming for them, but everything was going to be fine. Mamma and Papa would find them for him.  
   
 Tony’s young heart had splintered that day. His marks didn’t want to know him as a kid, he had to be an adult before they could be bothered with him. His anger was nearly as deep as his hurt. Because the anger was a relief from the pain.  
If sometimes in the silence of his bedroom, in the early hours when his brain was racing too much to rest properly, Tony wondered what was so wrong with him, that even his own soulmates didn’t want him that was a secret he buried deep in his subconscious because he refused to allow it to see the light of day. It was their loss. His anger made developing his alter ego easier.   
  
Edward wore suits, Tony wore jeans and heavy metal tee-shirts. Edward spoke with a lingering, faint, European accent which should have added to the handsome rich young man’s cachet, except it seemed to make him even blander. Tony’s words were fast, deadly, rambling yet utterly intent, threaded through with the slight hint of a New York accent.  
Edward spritzed himself with Gendarme V, whilst Tony’s scent was coffee, oil and the lingering tang of the sizzle and burn of a soldering iron. Edward smiled politely, Tony laughed uproariously, but the ruthlessness was true to both of them.  
  
So, Tony and Edward had played their Mamma’s and Papa’s identity game. It had been fun. Tony hated to be bored. But it had stopped being a game when his father and his Uncle Edwin had both died in an “unfortunate” accidental explosion at a Stark Industries facility in California. Howard had been pre-occupied for months, barely showing any interest in Tony’s AI invention that he had named after Edwin, or the further development of the Arc reactor they had been working on together. Maria had counselled against asking his father what the problem was, Howard would come to them when he was ready, not before. But Howard had died leaving them none the wiser.  
  
Tony had nearly lost his Mamma at the same time to her grief until a package had arrived for her, two days after Howard’s funeral. One she attended as an old friend rather than a soulmate and had to watch Obadiah Stane play the grieving business partner for the crowd. Maria Carbonell vowed to make his life an utter misery that day and that was before she learned of Howard’s suspicions.  
  
The package contained all Howard’s unregistered patents including the Arc reactor. His notes on his discoveries and a detailed list of the weapons and equipment which had failed production quality control and should have gone for disposal but were somehow “lost” in transit. At the end of the list there was a handwritten annotation. “3 x S”.

Maria practically had to sit on Tony to keep him in the room. “You know he meant Stane, Stone and Schmitt Mamma”. It was the first and last time he ever shouted at his Mamma but she wouldn’t let him go.  
“We have no proof mi Corazon” Before he could interrupt, she smiled fiercely, “Therefore we will find it and destroy them my Tony. They will pay for their evil. What was that saying from that ridiculous show you watched with Papa? Vengeance is a dish best served cold?”  
She stroked away the tears from his cheeks, “Be cold, deliberate, and utterly sure my son, let Edward lead on this and then my Tony will bring me their heads.”  
  
Mamma had convinced Tony to continue his studies. Then his mother had died. Another so called accident. The rage intensified but so did the ice-cold determination.   
For the most part, Tony forgot his soulmates existed. Tony had one night stands when he could no longer bear the silence and Edward had discrete, civilised liaisons. He treated them with courtesy and stayed on good terms with most. He refused to buy into the common belief that because he was waiting for his marks, his chosen partners could have no permanent value in his life. His marks could go to hell.   
  
Edward was exceedingly good at playing the long game. Tony preferred to hit and run with the help of his devoted AI. Therefore, Tony was the one to follow in their Papa’s footsteps, he became the Consultant whilst Edward took on the delicate task of ensuring Stark Industries  would return to its rightful owner.  
  
Edward had informed his COO Virginia “Pepper” Potts, the undisputed leader of his talented team from Harvard, that he was working from home and wasn’t to be disturbed unless aliens were invading Manhattan or New York itself had been targeted by a nuclear missile. Statistically speaking, they were the least likely events to ever occur so Pepper knew he was serious about not being interrupted.  
Edward had worked hard for two years to get this outcome and nothing, not even an Act of God was going to stop him from enjoying it to the maximum.  
  
He slowly loosened his tie and opened the top button of his silk shirt as he reclined upon a luxurious leather sofa, softly ordering. “Bring up the holoscreen Jarvis.”

 The video feed from Obadiah Stane’s mansion was as clear and immediate as if he had been there personally.  Admittedly, an utterly illegal though neat and untraceable hack. Jarvis was superb at obtaining information, however he had to do it. There was never a risk that his AI would be found out. An added bonus was that it was happening at the old Stark mansion, the home supposedly bequeathed to Stane by the late Howard Stark. Edward’s personal lawyers, the duo Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock, already had the papers in front of a New York judge to claim the mansion back for Howard Stark’s heir.   
  
Edward didn’t have long to wait. NYPD were very prompt when they were picking up suspects. The sight of the police handcuffs being secured to those burly wrists and the sound of the arrogant bastard’s outrage at the arrest was pure satisfaction.

“I do hope you are recording this Jarvis, I can foresee that this will be a favourite for many years to come.” Edward murmured gently, his eyes intent about the scene before him.  
“Indeed Sir, in high definition and surround sound to enhance your viewing pleasure”  
Edward snorted with amusement at the delightfully subversive sass. Tony would be needed soon. He just wanted to revel in his victory a little while longer.  
“Why I do believe Stark Industries is now ripe for the taking my dear Jarvis.” he drawled with a surprisingly accurate impression of a southern belle. “It will soon be time to make our move.”

“Indeed sir, matters are in hand, however I should mention that an urgent request for the Consultant’s services has been received from Agent Coulson at SHIELD. I think it would be wise to accept.”

Edward let out a long sigh. So much for relaxing peace and quiet. It was Tony time.

“Jay sweetheart, you know his name is Agent Agent. That little tick at the side of his left eye is so delightful when you use it. Now, what could be so important that this interrupts Edward’s dastardly plans?” Tony asked cheerfully, as he flung the impossibly expensive tie and suit jacket towards the sofa. He tried not to be too disrespectful to his Alter Ego’s choice of attire, even though Tony himself preferred ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Edward did so love his restrictive suits, the one benefit Tony could agree with was the way that they highlighted his ass perfectly.

“An Agent requires assistance with a damaged prosthetic and suitable equipment for a classified undercover mission.”

Tony frowned impatiently, “Well, that’s a no. Q-branch are more than capable of dealing with…”  
He was interrupted politely, but firmly “Sir, the prosthetic appears to have been designed and installed by Howard Stark, and the agent’s codename is given as …Winter”  


The arrest and detention of the CEO of Stark Industries Obadiah Stane was high profile news. The news outlets couldn’t seem to decide which charge was more heinous. The illicit black-market operation for illegal weapons to terrorists throughout the world or the accusation of first degree murders relating to the deceased owner of Stark Industries, the eccentric, reclusive genius Howard Stark and his butler Edwin Jarvis, who had died five years before.  
  
There had been blood in the water at SI when it happened and only the most tenacious board members had survived it. The Board of Directors had been terrified of losing Howard’s lucrative genius creative ability, he had been working on something called an arc reactor, which not only had wonderful weapon capability but the opportunity to sell it to the public as an alternative to fossil fuel, giving the weapons manufacturer some much needed public kudos and a competitive edge against that European upstart company Carbonell which was run by a woman.    
Of course the Board had moved to consolidate and safeguard Stark Industries. They had taken on Justin Hammer, son of Samuel Hammer, owner of Hammer Industries as Head of Research and Development in order to carry on Howard’s work. He had graduated from MIT with much pomp and fanfare which had impressed the Board.  
  
 Then the Board had unanimously moved to circumvent any possibility that Howard’s estranged heir would take control of the company, though it had been so long since he had been in the public eye that they had almost forgotten he existed. To appease their inactive consciences and any potential for bad publicity, they had made sure that Alex… Alistair… no Andrew. Andrew Stark had a more than fair and generous settlement of ten million dollars waiting for him if he ever turned up to try to claim a share of a 200-billion-dollar global phenomenon that he would not have the experience or capability of running himself.  
Then Obadiah Stane had proven his credentials as the most vicious shark in the water by ensuring that he was voted in as the Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries.  
  
For five years the Board had reaped the benefits of the Stane’s brand of ruthless business making. Surprisingly Howard’s heir had never made an appearance, and once again he was consigned to the annals of Stark Industries unimportant history.

Carbonell International Corporation however was making its presence increasingly felt on the world stage, with its innovative designs, socially responsible business practices, and it’s lobbying for third world rights. It was making waves in SI’s pond, including a miniaturised version of a familiar but unfortunately unpatented concept, Howard Stark’s Arc reactor.  
   
Stane had nearly gone insane with rage when he had seen the new product publicity announcement at the Carbonell European Expo in Madrid. They had searched everywhere for the schematics. It was why he had arranged to get hold of the mansion. He knew Howard had a workshop there, so it was logical that he would find Howard’s research. When Stane had taken possession of the mansion he had never found a damned thing, no personal possessions, or work in progress. The workshop itself was just a glorified garage for his damn cars. It was as if the god damn man didn’t even live there.  .  
  
One month later, Maria Carbonell had met her untimely end.  Her son Edward had insisted that her funeral be a private one, although he had shut down every office and manufacturing facility that they owned for that day in honour of his mother. That boring young man Edward Carbonell had been surprisingly elusive and effectively evasive as the Board and Stane tried increasingly more drastic measures to bring CIC under the umbrella of Stark Industries. They wanted that damn Arc reactor and they were going to get it, even if they had to absorb that penny ante, European, trash company.

Now the Board sat in appalled silence, as they reviewed the day’s events. They were not sure who or what to focus on next.  It was only a matter of time before more arrests were made  
  
This was brought uncomfortably home to Tiberius Stone, Justin Hammer and Johann Schmitt, Chief Financial Officer, President of Research and Development and Chairman of the board of directors respectively of Stark Industries by the graphic red and gold images of an obnoxious countdown and multiple laughing skulls on their computer system.  
The skulls disappeared in a burning flame until only the phrase “Think on your Sins” was left.  
At the very bottom the word “Ironman” flashed once.  That bastard hacker Ironman had been targeting them all for months

“Why the fuck can’t you find this guy, Hammer?” Stone almost screamed the words.  
  
 Hammer screamed right back at him. “Because he’s using a polymorphic engine to mutate the code.  Whenever I try to gain access it changes. It’s like trying to solve a god damned Rubik’s cube that’s fighting the fuck back.”

 

Barnes liked Coulson. He always had. An unassuming man but he was efficient and deadly. Two of his favourite things. Coulson also had a massive crush on Stevie which had always amused him, especially when it embarrassed the shit out of his soulmate.

The meet was set for the Maria Carbonell Foundation Art Gallery and Museum. The Foundation had somehow managed to get the famous Turner picture “The Fighting Temeraire”, amongst other major paintings from the National Galleries of several nations, and were using them to generate funds for its supported charities. Barnes was to sit in Room 34 in front of the Turner painting until the Consultant arrived.  
  
The Consultant wanted something public but quiet for the first meeting. A Wednesday afternoon in a museum fit the bill. It was his trademark. First meet to pass his test and if he didn’t approve then there wouldn’t be a second. Barnes liked the punk’s sheer arrogance.  
  
“There’s one last thing 007” Coulson began hesitantly. That caused Barnes to study him with sudden suspicion. Coulson was many things but hesitant was not one of them. Coulson seemed to have regained his confidence, looked him straight in the eye as if daring him to object and continued.  
“The Consultant is expecting Winter. That’s your codename for this mission. To all intents and purposes 007 is dead. Winter is a ghost. The Super Soldier Programme has been buried for so long, no-one will remember how the participants were designated.”

Barnes didn’t flinch at hearing his soul mark uttered aloud after such a long time, but his expression seemed to leave Coulson in no doubt about his feelings. The guy paled slightly, made his excuses and left.  


Bucky stared up at the painting. He had been sitting on a bench patiently for nearly an hour. At least the leather bench was comfortable unlike the spindly gold painted instruments of ass torture that were loosely termed chairs in most museums.  
  
Barnes had been very successful in his sniper training during the Super Soldier programme, he had limitless patience when it came to a target and right now he and the Agency needed the Consultant. Didn’t mean to say that he wouldn’t make the damned punk suffer in some way or another for making him wait, just that he would be patient for however long as it took. At least he was the only living human being in the room. The guard had disappeared a while ago..

He nearly sighed when the kid in the oversized duffle coat and satchel picked the same bench in the empty gallery and sat next to him. He did sigh when the brat spoke to him. How had his scowling badass serial killer aura let him down so badly?  
The kid’s voice was pure Manhattan, fast and bitten short, but the words he uttered sounded like they were from some freaking English gentlemen, a complete cultural contradiction.

“It always makes me feel a bit melancholy. Grand old war ship being ignominiously hauled away to scrap... The inevitability of time, don't you think? What do you see?”

Enough. He damned well wasn’t going to have a conversation with some hipster student whilst he waited for the Consultant. He would find a convenient corner not too far away to continue the wait. “A bloody big ship. Excuse me.”

The boy continued calmly, unruffled by the rudeness, “Turner was always interested in contemporary technology. He painted it more often than not. I thought you were too… Mr Winter? Or do you no longer require the Consultant’s services?”

Barnes came to an abrupt halt, he swung his head round slowly and stared at the little shit.  
Brown curls, his face turned away to the painting, and half hidden by the hood of the coat. Olive skin, firm red lips, a shadow of bristle, fluff really, dusting his chin and a slight flush to his cheeks. Delicate, yet strong hands. Short but lithe. Shorter than he and Stevie. An unwilling arousal curled in his gut at the sudden image of the kid sandwiched between the two of them. What the actual hell? Why would that even cross his brain?  
  
Confused guilt made him unreasonably angry. He might have screwed women after Stevie’s death, but he hadn’t been near a man. For god’s sake, the kid wasn’t even a man, he was a … kid.   A kid. And that was the more important problem to address, be damned to his lunatic libido.  
There was no way the Consultant was a kid. He had been in business for nearly twenty years. This kid would have been a foetus. Suspicion and guilty anger made his response harder and colder than he would have preferred. He did normally use his charm on his targets, made life more pleasant all round, even if he had to eliminate them in the end. “You must be joking.”

“Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat, Mr Winter?” The kid mocked with a smirk.

“Because you still have spots”, came the cutting reply.  
  
The smirk turned to an offended scowl.  “My complexion is hardly relevant, Mr Winter.”

Bucky didn’t question the odd satisfaction he got from riling the kid up as he continued, “Your competence is.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency, Mr Winter.” The kid sneered at him as he deliberately looked over the older man. For some reason, Bucky wanted to preen at the attention but he refused to let those confusing emotions rule him. He was a professional and the years of his experience resonated through his response. “And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

Outraged anger made the kid turn to face him properly for the first time. Christ he was a beautiful little bastard. He also dropped the formal façade.

“Winter Dude, I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my Underoos on my bed before my first cup of coffee than you can do in a year in the field. You are just a trigger to be pulled when needed.” The sassy delivery that couldn’t quite pull off a snarl caused Bucky more entertainment than insult, but he wasn’t letting the brat get away with that.    
  
“Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your Underoos kid.”  
  
The kid couldn’t help it, he snorted and for a second reluctant, wicked amusement lit that gorgeous face. It was finally obvious that he was older than he looked or was pretending to be.  
  
Another one of those strange thoughts crossed Bucky’s mind that those pretty whisky brown eyes should have been smiling at him, instead they had reverted to an expression that was harder than the vibranium Stark had used in his prosthetic arm.

The kid kept spitting out his soul mark name like it was a swear word, and that was beginning to piss Bucky off, but he dismissed it. There were more important things to deal with, the main one was the identity of the damned Consultant. This mouthy little shit was too young to be the Consultant. So back to square one.  
  
“You are too young to be the Consultant. He’s been around for at least fifteen years”, Bucky stated calmly. Before the kid could do more than open his mouth, Bucky moved with his trademark speed and suddenly the kid was beneath him on the red leather bench, the silver hand firmly around the kid’s throat, tight enough for him to feel it.  
Bucky’s hair fell like a curtain around their faces. The kid stared with startled defiance up into his eyes and again Bucky had the uncomfortable thought that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“Hands out of your pockets boy and bring them up where I can see them”, he ordered gently. He nearly laughed at the feel of the weapon rammed into the armpit of his prosthetic arm and the gloating expression on the little shit’s face. Damn, he liked this devious young punk.  
  
“Better let me up Mr Winter Sir.” The smirk that crossed the kid’s lips was familiar and as infuriating as Howard Stark at his worst. Well shit!  
  
Bucky could admit that his brain hadn't been firing on all cylinders since Stevie had bought it. The serum hadn’t only enhanced their bodies but also their intellect. Stevie had been the strategic genius, understanding the big picture, whilst Bucky could join the dots, see the pattern, and come to a correct conclusion without much evidence.  
  
He had been behaving like the unthinking, obedient asset the agency had always wanted, instead of the surviving half of the troublesome twins, but suddenly it all made sense, total, gut wrenching, guilty sense. But he still needed to confirm it. First things first.  
  
“You’re a Stark. Howard’s son. Howard was the original Consultant and you have taken over.” He stated factually. The startled expression that crossed the kid’s face was proof enough.  Now for the rest of it. He was nowhere near ready for this but both he and Stevie shared a stubborn streak a mile wide that had never allowed either of them to avoid pain.  
  
His voice was oddly gentle as he asked, “Why do you keep using my codename name like it's an insult…Ironman?”  
  
The flash of emotions, shock, horror, rage, and finally pain in the kid’s eyes, before he bit his lip and turned his face away made him feel lower than pond scum. Jesus Christ, what had he and Stevie done?

Bucky couldn’t help himself, he brought his flesh hand up to gently cup the kid’s face and turned him back. He stared into those brown eyes and whispered brokenly “I’m so, so sorry kid, you’ll never know how sorry I am. If we had come for you sooner, you could have known Stevie too.”  
  
The shock of the taser hitting his metal arm wasn’t really a surprise. The kid scrambled out from underneath him as Bucky fought the pain and disorientation and a surprising amount of pride in the feisty, deceitful, little punk.

“That’s all I ever was to you was a kid, you bastard, so don’t you fucking dare call me that now. My name is Tony.” He spat with venom as he reached down to collect his satchel.  
“And why the hell wouldn’t I get to know the Captain? Still too young for him? Fifteen years not long enough for him?” he continued the rant bitterly. The pain of those words hit Bucky harder than the damned taser. How dare the bastard say that? He ignored the jab about the time lag.  
“Stevie’s dead. Even though you never met him, your mark must have told you that as well”, vicious anger threaded the words.

The kid stopped what he was doing and actually rolled his eyes at him whilst still glaring. “Seriously? Seriously? What the hell dude? For the love of bright and shiny things, why the fuck did I have to get selfish, self-centred, morons for soulmates? Am I being punished for being so awesome?”  
  
Tony pointed an accusing finger at Bucky. “The mark is faded, you bag of dicks, not blackened, which is what happens when a soulmate dies. Why do you not know this? Why hasn’t that god damned agency of yours told you? It means he’s still alive but not in command of his faculties. He’s stuck between this world and the next. He’s on ice, maybe literally. Yeah, that would make sense. A cryogenic facility to hold a super soldier. It has to be Hydra, not even SHIELD would be that fucking shady, would they? Maybe. I’ll get Jay on that when we…”  
  
The kid, Tony, stopped his rambling rant as if he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. He began to move towards the exit, then gave a shrug and shook his head once as if he disagreed with what he was going to do but he did it anyway.  
“Well are you with me or not?” he demanded impatiently.

Bucky Barnes sat on the god damned bench, gaping at his third soulmate, whilst incredulous joy raced through his heart and soul. Stevie was alive. He had found their third, Tony.  Stevie was alive. Tony said so. They would find Stevie together and make the bastards responsible pay. Whoever they were.  They were going to regret taking the soulmate of Winter and Ironman.  
  
Bucky knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. But saving Stevie took priority. It would give him time to break down the kid’s barriers. He was Bucky Barnes and he could charm the birds from the trees when he wanted to. He knew the kid was hurt, and he was entitled to take as many swings as he wanted, but Bucky would be damned if he lost another soulmate. Once was more than enough.  
  
Tony watched as his newly found soulmate rose from the bench like a freaking phoenix rising from the ashes. The predatory gleam in his eyes made Tony’s widen with arousal and he swallowed, his mouth dry with want. No god damn it. He wasn’t going to make it easy for the pair of bastards.  
  
They had fucking ignored him for fifteen years. He might be invested in finding his other soulmate because it tied in with sorting the problem of Hydra and Stark Industries, but that was as far as it went. Tony had a purpose and even a good life with his alter ego. This pair of selfish bastards weren’t going to ruin it for him. He would use them to get what he wanted and then leave them. Like they had left him. He didn’t need them. He was only good enough now to help Bucky find the Captain. Bollocks to it. His father had always said Stark men were made of Iron and he didn’t need them.  If he said it often enough maybe he could even believe it.  
  
Bucky stalked towards Tony until he was he was directly within Tony’s personal space bubble. Slowly, so very slowly, Bucky bent his head until his mouth was directly in front of Tony’s lips.  
Tony unconsciously licked his bottom lip as he felt the warm breath skim over his skin. Bucky’s answer felt like a butterfly kiss to Tony. His heartbeat began to race as Bucky made his vow.  
  
“To the end of the line Doll, to the end of the line” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern spy Au gift for Oceanhearted's prompt in the Winteriron Spring fling Challenge. The work has been through beta with the wonderful, efficient, and fast "aint-nothing-but-a-drifter" (Sevedra on AO3). If you spot any remaining errors they are mine! 
> 
> So a little background. I have dumped the Marvel characters basically straight into Skyfall (2012). Part of the plot of the film anyway and I shamelessly used it's dialogue and scenes where I wanted to.   
> Hopefully covered all the specific likes listed  
> I do hope you enjoy this. It was fun to write.  
> It has an open ending because I didn't have the time to finish it the way I wanted to... so there will be a part two at a later date ;)


End file.
